


Too Straight For Straws

by twistedrunes



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Flirting, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15325362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedrunes/pseuds/twistedrunes
Summary: An alternate first meeting between Tommy Shelby and Alfie Solomons. Tommy's working the bar at the Garrison while most of Small Heath including his family are at a dance. A new customer catches his eye.





	Too Straight For Straws

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a conversation with pure-bastard-extract about straight men's aversion to straws.

It was a quiet night in the Garrison and Tommy was bored. The dance at the local hall keeping most regulars and his family away. Tommy didn’t mind working on nights like this, the Garrison becoming a temporary haven for those who wouldn’t have a suitable partner for such a public dance. But it was quiet, quieter than he expected with only a few couples scattered around. The couples being slightly bolder than normal with hands brushing against each other on the table tops, or knees pressed together. But there was no-one new and Tommy was disappointed.

Tommy sucks on the cigarette between his lips as he works a cloth around a glass cleaning it. Holding it up to the light to look for any marks or lint. The fractured image of the man newly arrived at the bar draws his attention. Tall, dark haired, broad shouldered, well dressed. Just Tommy’s type. Tommy nods in greeting sets the glass down stubs out his cigarette and strolls to the other end of the bar. The man removes his overcoat and sets his briefcase down, Tommy takes the opportunity to examine him further. A touch of grey at his temples, face without blemish of any kind. He notes the man’s hands, no wedding ring. “What can I get you?” He asks the stranger, smoke carrying the words towards the ceiling. 

“Whiskey,” the stranger meets his gaze easily “neat.”

Tommy nods and turns from the stranger reaching up to the higher shelf to pull down the bottle. The man behind him clears his throat making the corner of Tommy’s mouth twitch upwards. Taking the bottle and the freshly cleaned glass he returns to the man. Setting both down, he pulls out his cigarette case and draws a cigarette along his bottom lip, before holding out the silver case towards the man. The man shakes his head and holds up his hand declining silently. Tommy shrugs, and ducks his head to light the one dangling between his lips, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the man. He knows how to use his assets. He pours the measure into the glass and sets in on a cocktail napkin in front of the man “Straw?” He asks through a cloud of smoke.

The man’s brow furrows in confusion. “No.” he says brusquely. 

“Shame,” Tommy says with another casual shrug. He returns to the other end of the bar and cleaning the glassware. 

The night draws on and Tommy clears tables as people leave and begins to prepare for closing. The whiskey man leaves without ordering another. With only two couples remaining he heads down to the cellar to replace the empty and near-empty bottles of spirits and change the keg over. Arms full, he carefully makes his way back up the stairs. He nearly drops the bottles when he emerges to find a large, bearded man in a preposterous top hat standing behind the bar examining the shelves of alcohol. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Tommy demands.

The man doesn’t even hesitate. “Getting myself a fucking drink innit?” He turns towards Tommy. Tommy quickly climbs the remaining steps to stop the man from absolutely towering over him. The man continues as his eyes travel up and down Tommy’s frame. Sizing him up Tommy decides. “Seems this shithole, right, is so fucking backwards they haven’t quite invented barkeeps yet yeah.”

“I was only gone a moment, I’m getting ready to close,” Tommy says coldly, emptying his arms of their burden. “So if you’d be so kind as to take a seat, sir, I’ll be more than happy to serve you." He steps back and motions to the other side of the bar. 

"Well only if you’ve got the time, blue eyes.” The man says evenly, brushing past him as he moves to the other side of the bar as asked. Tommy all but sighs as the scent of the man, he smells familiar, homely even, not at all like Tommy expected. 

The comment catches Tommy off-guard and he feels a familiar jolt in his guts, he drags his eyes from the man in front of him and glances up at the clock on the wall “There’s still half an hour,” he says trying hard to hold an effect of boredom. 

The man nods and takes a seat, hooking his cane on the edge of the bar. Tommy takes another look as the man settles himself. Not Tommy’s usual type, rough and gruff looking but there’s something about the man Tommy can’t deny. He’s obviously strong, and the scar on his jaw means he’s been involved in violence of some kind, either the war or otherwise. The man leans back, forearm resting on the back of the stool next to him. Catching sight of the black crown adorning the back of the man’s hand Tommy decides the war is the less likely possibility. 

“What can I get for you?” Tommy asks noticing the man has rather nice eyes under the brim of that ridiculous hat. 

“Rum. White preferably.” The man says. 

Tommy nods and turns to reach the bottle down from the shelf. He can feel his waistcoat lift as he stretches. As he turns he notices the man is now leaning his elbows on the bar, long, lean bejewelled fingers working the hair around his mouth. Eyes obviously looking him up and down now. “So what’s a fuckin’ pretty thing like you doing in a fuckin’ shit-hole place like this?” He asks Tommy, his hands dancing in front of him as he talks. 

“It’s a family business,” Tommy explains quickly before he swallows hard and pours a double measure of rum into a glass. “There you go, sir.” He says sliding it across the bar. 

“No straw?” the man asks with a quirked eyebrow. “And the names Alfie, ‘nough of the sir shit right.”

Plucking a straw from under the counter, Tommy drops it in the glass. “You didn’t look the type, Alfie.” He says holding the man’s gaze, realising his heart is racing and he’s starting to feel warm. 

“Well this doesn’t look the fuckin’ kinda place to have 'em, and yet here we are.” The man says lifting the glass, wrapping his lips around the straw and taking a long drink. Tommy’s hand grips the counter as he watches the man. Alfie, he repeats in his head. His mouth is soft and lips plump. Alfie runs his tongue between them as he sets his glass back on the counter. “Not bad." He concedes. 

"You surprised to find something to your liking?” Tommy quips trying to regain some of his composure. What was it about this man that made him feel like he was playing with fire.

“Fuckin’ very innit” Alfie chuckles as he looks around him. His eyes return to Tommy’s holding them intently. “Now you gonna tell me your name or am I just gonna call you baby blues?" 

"Tommy, the names Tommy.” He says holding out his hand, deciding he was more than willing to risk getting burnt. What’s another scar anyway? 

Alfie takes it in his, the warmth nearly burning Tommy’s cold palm. “Well, that’s a darling name innit, Tommy.” He says holding Tommy’s gaze easily. 

Tommy feels the warmth travel up his arm, across the backs of his shoulders, climbing up his neck and settling in his glowing cheeks. His head turns to the door as it closes behind the last customers. He starts, remembering where he is, having been lost in the moment with this man. “Alfie,” he repeats the name aloud dumbly.

“Seems I’m your last customer,” Alfie says casually finishing his drink. 

“Mm,” Tommy agrees, refilling Alfie’s glass. “Looks like I’m working late.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on Tumblr: https://twistedrunes.tumblr.com/


End file.
